


Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

by dotchan



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotchan/pseuds/dotchan
Summary: So what happens when there's unresolved sexual tension and an impossibly picky Spy?Written sometime in the past.





	Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

The place was a sausage fest: there wasn’t a woman in sight for miles, not even unattractive ones the Spy could do from behind so he wouldn’t have to look at their faces. He did toy with the possibility of resorting to one of his teammates for company, but he soon dismissed them all to be unsuitable: the Scout, too much in denial; the Soldier, too insane; the Pyro, too paranoid about ever being seen outside of its suit; the Demoman, too drunk; the Heavy, too fat; the Engineer, too short; the Medic, too boring; the Sniper, too creepy. He made do with his own hand for the first few months, but the more time passed, the more the lack of proper stimulation was affecting his field performance. Until he could sneak an actual woman into the base, he needed to find something–anything–to use as a substitute.    
  
It started with pumpkins. He downed just enough of the Demoman’s self-distilled alcohol to lose his inhibitions and quiet the nagging doubts in his head before creeping down to the barn after hours. He felt around in the dark, tapping the surface of several pumpkins until he found one to his liking. With shaking hands he took out his knife and cut a hole in the side, needing minimum preparation as he was already hard from the anticipation. He shoved in with little heed to form except to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt himself on the ragged edges of the pumpkin’s shell, and then proceeded to have his way with the soft, squishy interior until he’d spilled his load. He sank to the ground, giddy with relief and residual waves of ecstasy. Then he hefted the object of his lust out to the compost heap, where he buried it as deep as he could manage. After that, he would return in the dead of night once a week to relive the experience, keeping a careful count of the stores to make sure that no-one would notice the discrepancy.    
  
Then, when they moved out of Harvest, he experimented with various objects before settling on a combination of banana peels and leftover sandwiches, the introduction of a microwave making the process all the easier. Again, the evidence was discarded in the most distant dumpsters he could find.    
  
Alas, his secret could not stay so in such an environment. His shameful habit was exposed during a stint in Turbine where, given the much tighter controls on the supplies, he resorted to an unhealthy combination of petroleum jelly and dirty laundry, giving himself a urinary tract infection as a result. The Medic, worried about the possibility of the rest of the team catching whatever it was that had the Spy complaining about a burning sensation whenever he peed, tracked down the cause of said infection. Then, to the Spy’s eternal embarrassment, he announced just what the Spy was doing to land himself in such a state.    
  
He never lived it down, not even after he found a partner that suited his eccentric tastes. (He did, however, at least get one over the Scout by claiming that warm pies made for the most similar experience to being inside a woman.)


End file.
